Something Old, Something New
by TwoBitesOfTheApple
Summary: Sequel to Forgive Not Forget. "Brendan cradled the sleeping boy closer to him. Did Ste want to get married? Would it make him happier? Would it make Brendan?" Years after they reunited, Brendan finds himself thinking about the next step and unwittingly emerses the couple in all the drama that follows. Smut/excessive fluff warnings..
1. Prologue: Here Comes the Sun

**Hello everybody! This is a sequel fic to my first story: forgive not forget. It's not really necessary to read that first, though there are a few OC's that might crop up now and again. Basically, Cheryl and Walker are married; Joel and Theresa are married; Doug and Ste broke up; Brendan and Ste got together; Kyle is another of Ste's ex boyfriends. I think that's all you need to know, but I might update that at some point.**

**Anyway, hope you like it! Reviews at the end please!**

**This chapter is dedicated to kabr (chickyrock! :D ) because she made my week this week :)**

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**Prologue**

Ste's fingers bit, greedy and intense and on fire, into the skin on Brendan's hips, digging just below the waistband on his jeans as Brendan arched against him. Their tongues meshed together in a silent, sensual groan that burned through both of them. Ste whimpered into Brendan, and the stronger arms tightened reflexively at the noise, dragging the lithe body closer in until Brendan could easily appreciate just how much his Steven liked what they were doing in the shadowy corridor.

"Fuck me," Brendan gasped quietly in wonder.

Ste smirked, "Well, that's different," he joked, and his fingers itched inside Brendan's boxers to grip his hard shaft.

Brendan's knees buckled, just a little. The movement dislodged them, and they fell hard against the warm, Brendan's head cracking against it and Ste collapsing on top of him. The hard planes of his boyfriend's body pressed against his; Brendan began to lift his shirt; Ste ground into him, his hand still between their bodies, and he times the movements to match the desperate pace of his fist.

"Fuc-" Brendan growled again, pushing his lips against Ste's softer lips violently.

"Brendan! Ste!" Cheryl's bubbly voice interrupted them from the kitchen. "Are you two down there?"

Both men froze in their hasty actions, awareness flooding back as they realised where, and when, and maybe even who they were. Blue eyes met urgently – though a very different kind of urgent now – and they leapt apart, pulling their clothing back into place.

"Fuck," Brendan muttered again, furiously disappointed in the sudden change in events. But he couldn't help that sneaky, naughty grin at his speedily dressing boyfriend. Ste chuckled, too; he smoothed Brendan's moustache slowly.

With Ste's fingers on his face, it was hard, sometimes, for Brendan to remember. Not the things like the boy, and how Brendan felt – would always feel, he was sure by now – for him, not the way he laughed or the way he cried or the way he could lighten Brendan's day with inane chit chat. Not the things that _mattered_.

But he forgot himself, sometimes. His past. Sometimes – and it was a horribly girly thing that Brendan would never dream of even thinking properly never mind saying out loud – Steven made him feel like he was evaporating, until there was just the best of him left. He couldn't complain that he didn't like it.

"Brendan!" Cheryl called again, and, again, Brendan remembered that he was in her house, at her dinner party and – unfortunately – he could not take Steven against the wall right now.

"Here!" Ste called back, without breaking eye contact. His voice was hoarse, low and grumbling and ridiculously sexy.

"Oh for God's sake," Cheryl's voice reached them. She rounded the corner, bouncing into view and stopping short as she saw them. Her arms flung wide in exasperation, "Yep! I knew it! I told him, I did: they'll be off somewhere having sex!"

Moaning, griping, she lead the way back downstairs, to where Walker lounged at the table. He took in their abashed, dishevelled appearance and laughed, "Bloody hell, you two!"

Brendan slumped back down dramatically, "It's his fault!"

Ste snorted in disbelief, "How do you work that out?"

Brendan didn't reply: he just looked him over once, slowly, and allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction at the nimble, smooth frame, the golden skin, the sexy as fuck eyelashes, the adoring blue eyes. He had done bloody well for himself. The boy was far more than fuckable.

"Alright, we get the idea, control yourself man!" Walker rolled his eyes, and Brendan stopped admiring his lover long enough to realise that he was making his sister uncomfortable with the blatant eye sex.

Chez had long since gotten over the whole "you-guys-are-so-adorable-I'm-so-happy-for-you-that-I'll-put-up-with-the-PDA" stage. Now it was just a little awkward watching her elder brother, who she loved dearly, be eye fucked.

Brendan whipped his eyes from Ste (he-was-blushing-he-was-so-adorable-Brendan-just-kindof-wanted-to-fuck-him-all-day-long).

"So, what's this?" He asked brightly, picking up his spoon and shovelling whatever it was into his mouth. "Sabayon." He answered his own question without thinking. The familiar tang of Irish liquor pulsed across his taste buds, warming his throat as he swallowed happily.

"What?" Ste asked, poking the dish speculatively and looking round at everyone for clarification.

Cheryl laughed before realising the Mancunian was serious. She set down her fork, eyes wide; she brushed several blonde curls out of her hair, "Ste, love, hasn't Brendan ever forced you to try Sabayon before?"

Ste shook his head; everyone followed his gaze to Brendan, who shrugged.

"It wasn't intentional," the Irishman excused himself. "I never even thought of it, it's hardly a common desert."

Cheryl rolled her eyes, "You call yourself Irish!" She reprimanded her brother softly, before turning back to her other friend. "Sabayon is a traditional Irish desert. Brendan's Ma used to make it a lot when we were little; it's his favourite meal."

"I thought Swiss Rolls were your favourite?" Ste teased affectionately, but a little curious all the same.

"They are," Brendan promised. "This was a long time ago. I haven't had Sabayon in years."

Ste accepted his chaste kiss (chaste for them. Walker cleared his throat meaningfully) and began to eat. He was used to the Irish drink by now, and the strong taste repelled him hardly at all; he was able to taste the delicate blend of ingredients behind it and, almost automatically, he began to catalogue them at the back of his brain. It shouldn't be too hard to make, if Brendan liked it.

"It's not quite like your Ma used to make it," Cheryl commented happily.

"It's good, still," Walker assured her, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles gently.

"You wouldn't know, would you?" Cheryl chided her husband sweetly, raising their interlinked fingers to brush against his stubble lined jaw.

Ste shot Brendan a look clearly stating that he found them adorable. Brendan rolled his eyes in return. The evening moonlight filtering through the un-shuttered window broke across Ste's radiant smile, and Brendan's heart _ached_ with emotion watching him.

He was so in love.

"Might make a move, soon," Ste decided for them, not long later. The group had migrated to the sofas, slumped in a foursome together with a bottle of wine and the television on mute in the background. Cheryl was dropping off against Walker's shoulder, and Ste was very conscious of Brendan's finger on the small of his back.

Brendan pulled them both to their feet, wrapping Ste in his jacket with a kiss and waving goodbye to Walker as he backed them out of the door. The two set off down the familiar village, deserted by the early hour. The moon glinted in little sparks off the cobbles, and the two men hugged into one another for warmth against the English chill.

They didn't speak as they moved together towards their home. They didn't say a word as Brendan unlocked the door and they checked in on Leah and Lucas. They said nothing as they fell against one another in the confines of their room, ravenously hungry and learnedly quiet as they pawed and pulled and tugged and pushed at one another until they were both gasping and sweaty and entwined in the cool, messy sheets.

Ste played with the thick hair on Brendan's chest, kissing him softly, and, finally, he said what was on his mind, "They're sweet, don't you think? Cheryl and Walker?"

Brendan grunted, eyes closed and a doped smile covering his face. The dark swallowed them, but they knew what the other looked like.

"Cute little married couple," Ste murmured, and his head fell with a heavy slump onto Brendan's shoulder as he shuddered a deep yawn. As he fell asleep, Brendan's eyes opened silkily. His fingers wound into Ste's hair and he gazed down at the sleeping figure speculatively.

He had known all along Ste's attitudes to marriage.

Amy had mentioned it once or twice, Cheryl had suggested talking about it but Brendan...despite everything, Brendan was a Catholic, and he didn't understand marriage with a man. And Ste knew that. They had never pressed the matter.

But Brendan was getting old, and Ste, too.

Not old in the retirement, living in a home, having trouble moving way. Old in the settling down way. Old in the relaxing in front of the TV and talking about gossip together way. Old – and it wasn't a perfect comparison – in the _used to each other_ way.

And Brendan really, really loved Ste.

What would they do, once the children had left? What would Brendan do if something happened to Ste, or vice versa? How would the world remember them?

Brendan cradled the sleeping boy closer into him. Ste kissed him through his dreams.

Did Ste want to get married?

Would it make him happier?

Would it make Brendan happier?

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**Quite short, the rest of the chapters should be longer and fairly regular (though, be warned now, I'm a professional procrastinator). If you have anything to say, any questions to ask, and ideas to put forwards, put it in a review or send me a message, I'm open to anything :) **

**Thank you for reading! ~Meli**


	2. He loves you (Yeah Yeah Yeah)

**Okay, okay, okay, I know, I'm a bad person, I didn't update for ages, I'm sorry. But it's here now - as a little peace offering :) So, basically, this chapter is so that the Epilogue of Forgive not Forget makes sense in the context of this story, and also as a little lead into the next chapter. Also, gay marriages are being made legal in the UK, and that changed things around a bit.**

**Anyway, I hope you like it: there's not much smut and not much fluff and not even much angst, so I'm not sure what you call this. Thank you to all reviewers of the last chapter!**

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Brendan was late.

Brendan was late and he knew he was late and he was rushing goddamit so could everyone just get out of his way and make his life easier? That child, for example: screaming in the middle of the pavement like he owned the place! Where was his mother to _move the brat_, eh?

God's sake!

He huffed as he hurried across the road, ducking the long way round to avoid the careful eyes of the deli and it's obscenely large window onto the street (did no one get any privacy if they were trying to avoid their boyfriend?). The bottles swinging precariously in the flimsy shopping bag he carried jangled ominously, but Brendan merely sent them a dirty look.

At the rate this was going he didn't much care whether they all broke and leaked everywhere.

It wasn't like the result could possibly be worse than he knew it would be, could it?

Before long – an age – the grimy council flat loomed above him, and Brendan was letting himself in and ushering Leah and Lucas out of the door, a smirking Amy was collecting them and dropping sneaky, nerve inducing hints and umming and ahhing over the contents of the bags and Brendan just wanted everyone to _leave_ because he had a lot of work to do and he was behind schedule.

Goddamit!

Though, if he was honest, perhaps he wasn't the most productive worker after he was alone. Oh, he unpacked everything onto the countertops. And then he checked over them all once or twice or seven times. And then he might have reshuffled them.

"Man _up_!" Brendan warned himself, gripping the sideboard and glaring at the ingredients as though it was their fault he was such a terrible procrastinator. For comfort, he thought about whiskey.

The recipe had small font and no pictures, and was much more like his grandmother's recipe books of old than the bright little things he used once or twice when Leah forced him; Brendan flicked through it with a grim expression and a sour mood, and too soon he was reading the words.

What did "dice" even mean, anyway? Why couldn't they just give _normal_ instructions?

Stupid fucking recipes.

There were perfectly good restaurants, and perfectly eatable microwave meals, out there, but some people – cough, Steven, cough – had gotten it into their head that making your own food was preferable; more sophisticated. Brendan's own view on the subject was that fine, make your own food, as long as Brendan can eat it whenever and wherever he is he didn't care. It just had to be in front of him.

Seriously, stupid fucking recipes.

Whatever.

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Ste clattered up the stairs towards the Brady flat (okay, so he knew that it technically wasn't the Brady apartment, especially as one Brady moved out – into Ste's bed – and the other changed her name, but he would forever remember sneaking up there the first time after Brendan, eager and willing and hot, and he would always call it the Brady apartment) with unnecessary anger.

Some people were just twats, weren't they? Did the mothers – and fathers, he amended in his mind - have to bring in screaming children when the place was already crowded and Tom was grounded? No, was the answer; no they didn't, the kids could just wait outside and stop making such a fuss.

But, whatever, the customer was always right.

Didn't stop Ste wanted to smack a couple of the mouthier ones, but still; they were right, and he would smile and serve them and then spend the money they gave him frivolously.

He banged on the door – painted purple now (whatever) – and waited for the ditzy blonde to open it.

Walker did, instead, half dressed and breathing hard and obviously distracted. Ste rolled his eyes, "For God's sake, you two! One little wedding and you've got sex on the brain!"

Walker pulled a face, "I'm sorry, who was having sex in the hallway at my wedding anniversary last week?"

Ste blushed, "We didn't have sex." (_Brendan's knees buckled, just a little. The movement dislodged them, and they fell hard against the floor, Brendan's head cracking against it and Ste collapsing on top of him. The hard planes of his boyfriend's body pressed against his; Brendan began to lift his shirt; Ste ground into him, his hand still between their bodies, and he times the movements to match the desperate pace of his fist._)

"Because we interrupted you," Cheryl appeared over Walker's shoulder, wearing a sheet and face dyed scarlet, but cheerful nevertheless. She leant over to kiss Ste on the cheek, which he accepted grudgingly, though Walker seemed a little put out.

"Anyway, I'll leave you two to...well..." Ste gestured away, backing away from the door, and a smirking Walker began to close it.

"Wait!" Cheryl screeched, battling her way through the prison of Walker's strong forearms to stand on the little balcony above the village, completely shameless, "I...have to talk to you about something."

Ste stared at her, "Now?"

"_Now_?" Walker echoed, more meaningfully.

Cheryl, nodding desperately, pulled Ste inside, keeping her modesty secure with the other. Walker and Ste shared a bemused look, and, once inside, Ste purposefully looked away from the clothes scattered along the path from the sofa towards the closest bedroom.

"What is it Cheryl?" Ste asked, perching on the edge of a barstool and accepting the cold coffee she thrust towards him.

Beneath her sheet, Cheryl wriggled into a bra and knickers. Walker passed her his shirt, and she allowed the sheet to drop, "Um."

Ste rolled his eyes, "Brendan told you to distract me, didn't he?" He guessed, taking a gulp of the disgusting drink.

Cheryl nodded awkwardly, "I should plan these things in advance, shouldn't I?"

"Or he should make someone do it who can lie," Ste agreed, smiling with Walker at their chosen partner's stupidity. "Bless him, he still has faith in you."

"I'm not that bad, am I?" Cheryl asked Walker defensively, her body curving into the body he wrapped around hers, pressed against him from the toes on his shin to the nose cupped under his chin.

"Course not," Walker molly coddled, winking at Ste. Cheryl smiled.

"So when am I allowed home?" Ste asked, "Cos I've got to pick up the kids, me."

Cheryl waved a lazy hand, "He took care of it, quit fussing, love." She bit her lip guiltily, and shot him a look of supplication.

"No!" Ste forbade, rising to his feet.

"Turn the TV up high, yeah?" Cheryl giggled, pushing Walker towards the bedroom again.

"No!" Ste insisted, holding out one hand in what he supposed was a firm manner.

"With him right there?" Walker asked, his voice dropping into scandalised tones but his hands already reaching for her.

"Kinky sex," Cheryl muttered, guttural against his Adam's apple.

"I'm off!" Ste grabbed the jacket he had discarded earlier, "I'll take the long way home. You two..you.."

The door to the bedroom banged shut, and, shuddering, Ste hurried out.

Brendan and he would never be like that. They didn't have sex in the club pretty much every other day. They hadn't once had sex in the phone booth in the village. The deli had totally never had sex in before. Or in the car park of the dog in the pond. Or in every single room of their flat, and Cheryl and Walker's flat, and the flat in Dublin, and various hotels scattered around. They'd never stopped the car in random fields to have sex.

Totally.

It was different though, wasn't it? Because Brendan was...Brendan was _so hot_. Who could blame Ste?

Speaking of Brendan (what else was new) Ste wondered what he was doing that required so much time alone. Should he stock up on more condoms, more lube; surely Brendan would have taken that precaution. But then, it wasn't like they wouldn't be used up well before their sell by date, anyway...

But Ste had passed the shop already, and his thoughts made him eager to return. He picked up the pace, nearing the council estate they had never moved from.

He knew before he reached it that Brendan's plans had not gone right.

For one, there was too much smoke coming from the windows.

For the other, there was a disgruntled Irishman squinting up at him from where he sat on the front doorstep.

"So I tried to cook," Brendan started, blowing out his cheeks in frustration.

Ste took a seat beside him, "Do we need to buy a new oven?" Brendan shook his head, and Ste picked up his hand comfortingly, "Then it's the thought that counts."

Brendan laughed without humour, "Yeah."

Ste slings an arm around his lovers wide shoulders, lying his head down there, too, "So, do you want to tell me the special occasion?"

Brendan sniffed, and stood up, marching through the door to fiddle with the whining fire alarm in the background, before coming back and retaking his seat, "I asked you to marry me."

Ste's heart caught in his throat, and he pulled away so that he could see Brendan's expression – staring down at his linked hands – better, "And I said yes."

Brendan looked up, a little guiltily and a little accusatory, "And then what?"

Ste understood Brendan's meaning, "And then we did nothing. We...what, forgot about it?" He winced at that: they forgot about their wedding. They forgot they were engaged.

"Something like that," Brendan agreed gruffly.

Ste nodded, thinking it over, "So what did you want to say?"

Brendan smiled then. It was utterly unromantic: with smoke pouring thick out from behind them and the smell of burnt meat, and grime wiped across his face and on a dirty doorstep on an overgrown lawn beside a grotty building. But he gripped Ste's hand tightly, the smile a little offering between them, and Ste's heart hammered loudly.

He thought he had been lucky to be proposed to by Brendan once, but _twice_?

Proposed to by Brendan Brady twice.

Brendan Brady.

And he was the only person _ever_ to have that honour, that was nice, too.

Brendan wiped some soot from Ste's hairline gently, "Will you marry me? And this time – will you actually marry me?"

Ste laughed harshly, throwing his arms around Brendan's neck and kissing him violently. His tongue tasted of burn, and he felt sweaty against Ste's fresh skin, and Ste wouldn't have it any other way because it was so _Brendan_ to mess up the meal he was trying to cook as he proposed.

Also, he tried to cook.

"Yes," Ste gasped, yanking himself away, and Brendan returned his grin buoyantly.

"That's nice," Jacqui McQueen said from above them, "But do you think you could sort out that food, now, before you gas us all out?"

Ste laughed, burrowing into Brendan's neck as his fiancé put his arms around him.

"On it, Jacqueline," Brendan promised, pulling them both to their feet.

The McQueen gave him a knowing look, her thin arms supporting her weight as she leant out over the space, her hair breaking in sheets around her neck, "Don't you go inside and have sex, you!"

Ste laughed again, pausing in the love bite he was in the process of sneakily administering. Brendan grumbled his disapproval as he pushed them inside.

"We're not allowed to have sex," he reminded Ste, and then captured his mouth greedily.

It was completely different to the last time he'd proposed. Before, it had been planned, perfect, and sweet; now it was terrible. A sham of a proposal, made worse by the fact that Ste would tell everyone, wouldn't he? Oh, God, it nearly wasn't worth it.

It was definitely worth it.

They made short work of ridding their clothes, the door not even fully closed behind them. Soon – too long – their skin was pressed against one another, too far away and electrically close and Ste was grabbing at flesh and Brendan was pushing and pulling roughly and neither of them needed much preparation and it was just gasping and groaning and grabbing before they came together, in the tiny space that counted neither as a corridor or a hallway, but wasn't in the living room either.

"We're not allowed to have sex," Ste licked some cum off Brendan's stomach.

Brendan, actually shaking, plastered to the floor, groaned in amusement and surprise, "Don't tell me you've still got energy."

Ste smacked his toned stomach, "You're old, old man."

Brendan caught his hand, keeping him there, "Is that how I get you screaming my name?"

Ste chuckled, "You and you're ego, for sure."

Brendan kissed him under the jaw, and then down his neck, and then just below his belly button. Ste's hands fisted in his lover's hair and he sighed in satisfaction.

"You smell nice," Brendan whispered into his skin, lying his head there.

"You don't." Ste replied.

Laughing, Brendan rolled off, and stood up, taking a moment to survey the boy lying unabashedly naked beneath him. He would never get over this.

"I better sort out the food, before I get killed by a feisty McQueen," Brendan murmured, heading towards the kitchen and dropping the blind when he reached it.

Ste closed the door, "Perhaps I better do that."

"Saying I can't cook?" Brendan growled jokingly.

Ste took the pan out of his hands, "I'm saying your heart might not take the strain of all this heavy lifting." He winked.

Brendan hefted the pan out of Ste's hands, and slung it into the sink, "Do I have to prove to you my manly youthfulness?" He purred, his voice like honey over gravel and Ste felt it all the way through.

Ste forgot briefly how to speak (naked Irishmen should never say things like that, it wasn't fair to the world), "Um."

Brendan smirked, his ego stoked, and went back to cleaning, "Didn't think so."

Rolling his eyes, Ste helped.

"So...Indian?" Brendan offered later, after they were both half dressed and the place was in some sort of order and there wasn't smoke anywhere.

Ste curled into his side, smiling because he knew that Brendan didn't even like Indian all that much but it was Ste's favourite, "Sounds good."

Brendan reeled off the usual order and pulled Ste closer to him again as they waited.

"We can't have sex while we're waiting for the Indian," Brendan mumbled, as Ste reached for him.

Remembering: "Your bloody sister and her husband tried to have sex in front of me earlier!"

Brendan's face screwed up in disgust, "I did _not_ need to know that, talk about something else."

Ste smirked, "How about our wedding, loverboy?"

Brendan swivelled to face him, and they sat on the sofa Brendan had bought (he had always hated the cheap lumpy thing Ste was so attached to) both with crossed legs and similar dopey smiles on their faces, "What about it, honey bug?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about the when, sugar-lips?"

"Soon," Brendan kissed him gently, "sweetie pie."

Ste laughed, "No! Not sweetie pie, not that far!" He shook his head, reprimanding, and the doorbell rang.

Brendan got up to go and get it, and Ste watched the sway of his hips away – what a swag. By the time that he was back, Ste was biting his lip and looking nervous.

Brendan stuffed a corner of a popadom into his mouth, crumbs sprinkling haphazardly across his moustache, "What?"

Ste gave him a disapproving look, brushing them off, "Look, Brendan, if we're actually doing this..."

"What?" Brendan asked again, setting down the food and sitting down with a frown, when Ste failed to continue. "Steven, what is it?"

"I need to you sort out things with some people, first," Ste confessed. "I just...weddings involve family, right?" Brendan nodded, "And people from your past, even if you haven't seen them in a long time?"

Reluctantly, Brendan nodded again, "If you want them to."

Ste sighed in relief, "I do."

..."So?"

Ste grinned hopefully, "Can you get in touch with Macca, maybe-"

-"What?"-

"-and also Peter-"

"You have to be kidding!"

"-please!"

"Steven!" Brendan murmured incredulously. "You really think that's a good idea?"

Ste gripped Brendan's face tight between his fingers, "Look, Macca's your nephew."

"Eileen's!" Brendan disagreed.

"Still family!"

"Not _really_!" Brendan disagreed, shuddering slightly, "If that were the case..."

Ste waved him off, "Look, it was a long time ago that you two...well..."

"Had an affair on my wife?" Brendan supplied, getting to his feet and striding to the other side of the room in frustration. "How is it _ever_ a good idea having myself, Eileen, you and Macca in the same room on an emotional day?"

"Fine!" Ste gave in, "Don't invite him to the wedding! But you should really make peace with him, and you know it!"

Brendan rolled his eyes, "Not happening."

Ste pulled a face, "You know what, it's your life, isn't it? What say have I got, I'm only your _fiancé_, aren't I?"

"Steven," Brendan murmured, in the tone that warned Ste off going further. They'd talk about it later, when emotions were lower, apparently.

"What about Peter?" Ste asked next.

Brendan looked at Ste: all furiously superior glowing eyes and cheeks , jaw thrust forwards convincingly and pouty lips pursed, "Okay," he agreed, "I'll talk to Peter."

"Really?" Ste leant forwards, grinning, all anger forgotten as he was given this gift. He had known it would be hard for Brendan, and here he was...

Well, Ste loved him.

"Really," Brendan promised, kissing him softly. "Now can we eat?"

Ste laughed, pulling away, "Sure." He gave Brendan his popadom back.

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**I can't remember if I made Amy and Peter married in the last story, so if I did...sorry. Put it in a review and I'll sort it. If not, just ignore this :)**

**Please review - and I'll try to get another chapter up for you fast :) ~Meli**


	3. Nowhere Man

**Hi Yis. This is quite a small, quite an angsty, quite a badly written chapter; it'll probably be changed/edited sometime soon, but the storyline won't change so if you see anything stylistically you don't like point it out to me and I'll work over it :) I've decided to have smaller chapters (more like this than in Forgive, Not Forget) so that I can whap out a chapter quicker.**

**This is the one where mysteries start to build; so I wouldn't worry if you don't understand everything...all shall be revealed ;)**

* * *

Brendan was always a little...uneasy...about seeing his mother. He loved her, of course, but...well, he liked her...well, sometimes. She had her moments. Occasionally. Mostly in the past, now.

Sad, really, but he didn't think about it much because he didn't associate with sadness any more. Not that his life was perfect, not by a long way; Steven and him bickered still, and Padraig was going through a moody teenager phase and he found himself thinking about the past, on Steven's instructions. But those things...they made him angry, or exasperated, or regretful, but not sad. He was _happy_; all the time.

With a sniff, the tall Irishman clacked his closed fist twice, sharply, on the slightly dirty looking door, staring out of the window at the view of his favourite city as he did so.

He heard it open, but he waited until she spoke that he turned to look at her.

"Brendan!" His mother greeted in surprise. Her voice was husky from years of smoking, but the smell didn't hit him like it used to in the past. She'd told him – a few years ago, the last time he spoke to her – that she'd stopped, but he hadn't believed her. It wasn't like she'd had cause, was it?

She was smaller than he remembered, too; and she had ditched the filthy brown dressing gown for jeans and a baggy jumper. She didn't wear makeup, and her hair was a mess, but for the first time he'd ever seen her she looked...presentable. He wasn't sure what to make of it, and he knew that it showed on his face because her surprise morphed into a wry amusement that he _did_ remember.

"Surprise," he croaked, to try to cover it, and then wished he'd chosen a different word.

She picked up on it, "Aren't I just."

She stepped back to let her only son into the flat, and he followed her silently, taking in the dirty dishes in the sink and the pile of mail on the floor by the door. The doors onto the tiny balcony were open, but all the blinds were drawn and it was dark inside. Hastily, his mother flicked on the lights.

"I wasn't expecting...company," she apologised awkwardly, taking a seat on one low sofa and wringing her hands nervously.

Brendan hesitated before sinking to follow suit. In an oxymoronic way the casual squalor around him comforted him slightly. This was much more like his childhood, when it was him that had to clean the place, as she was often too drunk to manage.

"How are you?" He asked her, grateful that his voice had smoothed out into its usual powerful purr.

Siobhan Harley (years after her young divorce from Brendan's father, she had changed back to her maiden name) shrugged her thin shoulders, "I've been well, thank you. Can I offer you some tea?" She rose shakily to her feet, jittering over to the kettle before he could refuse.

Brendan, a tense and silent few minutes later, accepted the steaming drink with no enthusiasm. He sniffed the mixture, and took a tentative sip.

Surprisingly, it was nice. He didn't know how she knew he liked four sugars, but she had added them nonetheless. Either an excellent guess, or motherly intuition, and Brendan knew which he would place his money on, if he were a gambling man.

"So anything new in your life?" He questioned next. "What have you been up to?"

He didn't care. He genuinely cared not even a little bit, but he found it hard to just _start_ the conversation, and was hoping to prompt her to do so.

Siobhan just shrugged again, turning her gaunt face away, "There's not much to tell you."

He read the subtext: there actually was a lot to tell him, but it was pointless because he didn't know her in the slightest.

Again, he cared little.

"Well I have some news," he stated forcefully, ignoring the wince that showed he'd driven the lack of love between them home. "I'm getting married."

"You're already married," the stranger returned tonelessly.

Brendan clenched his fists. This was why he didn't talk to his mother.

"Eileen and I divorced years ago," he reminded her harshly. "I'm talking about Steven and you know it."

Siobhan looked to her hands, taking a sip of tea with no emotion on her face.

"Jesus, be happier," Brendan muttered sarcastically, leaning back angrily.

She just didn't make any _effort_. She was so _cold_, and _nasty_, and whenever he saw her he got a sour taste at the back of his mouth and was it any wonder he didn't do it often but Steven _asked_ him to and he must really want to marry Steven after all.

That was surprisingly true, actually – he really, _really_ wanted to marry Steven.

"Don't blaspheme," she said, instead of a genuine reply.

Brendan got up to leave.

That was it, that was enough, he couldn't take any more.

Siobhan caught her son's hand desperately. Goosebumps raised along Brendan's skin, because she was freezing and because she held onto him far too tightly for such fragility she exuded.

"Don't go," she begged, her blue eyes – so like Brendan's own – fixed upon his needily. "I see you so little."

Brendan couldn't look at her – his head dropped low and he tried half heartedly to free himself, too leave, but Steven must be rubbing off on him because he couldn't bring himself to abandon the nearly crying woman.

"You can't expect me to listen to this?" He said quietly.

Her face screwed up in disgust, "I know exactly what you think you are, son. But the Lord doesn't make us like that. That's _Satan_, that's the devil inside of you and you have to _fight_ it. It's _wrong_; it's sinning!"

Brendan huffed a laugh, disgusted at the bald faced repulsion ingrained within her, and at the institution that would victimise him for something he couldn't control. Well, he'd denied himself long enough and there was no way he was denying himself Steven now. Not when he'd already lost so much time, across the years.

"It's not wrong," he denied. "You don't understand it, but it's not wrong."

She scoffed, "The Lord denounces it."

"The Lord says that he was right to abuse you!" Brendan exploded. Instantly, he regretted it.

The room took on a much more stagnant feel; the darkness crushing in on them suffocating and the flickering lights playing shadows across the walls, mocking them, taunting them, goading them. If Brendan held his breath, he could almost hear the man's footsteps among them. And he knew what his mother heard.

Or at least, he thought he did.

"You're father was wrong," Siobhan said finally, her voice a faint whisper that did as much to vanish the evil in the room as it had thirty years earlier. "I should have known you'd be wrong too."

Brendan left.

Smacking her fingers from his arm, slamming through the apartment and crashing down the stairs until he hit the fresh air, he shook with anger. How dare she – how _dare_ she. He was unclean, he was filthy, he was tainted and he could – Christ – he could _feel_ his touch, and he could hear his voice and he could – Oh, God – he could see his face and...

Brendan slammed a fist into the concrete wall, and the spiking pain shooting up his arm did nothing to diminish the pain inside his head, and his heart.

"Brendan!" Ste shouted, leaping to his feet from his table outside the cafe across the street, leaving a half drunk coffee unpaid for and concern crunching his features.

The Irishman barely heard, with his face pressed against the cool stone and his hand bleeding badly.

The younger Mancunian rushed to his boyfriend's side, seizing his shoulders and using his entire body strength to pull the man around to face him, cupping his empty face in his tanned hands and squeezing the available, non-mangled, fingers, "What happened?"

Brendan shook his head, shaking, desperate to rid himself of the voices in his head, and the fingers on his skin.

"She compared me to him," he whispered.

Ste understood, easily; her wrapped his skinny arms around his fiancé, pressing his face into Brendan's neck and soaking up the tears of the injured man. The words he murmured were as meaningless as they were useless, but they were given with good intention and for a little part of Brendan's soul that kindness was enough to begin healing.

It had been a long time since he had suffered so at the hands of his father; and the pain got no less raw every time he thought of it. But sometimes...sometimes it got quicker to forget again. Practice, or less hurt, he didn't know; he didn't think he ever would.

Later – far later, cocooned back in their little flat in the city – Brendan told Ste what happened. His face was burrowed against the boy's flat stomach, and in turn the boy burrowed his hands into Brendan's hair, and they were perfectly in time.

But for the first time in a long time, Brendan wasn't happy.

But he had Steven.

"I booked a ferry crossing this morning," Ste whispered, after the sun had set and their bodies – wrapped around each other, yes, but bare from the cold night air – were beginning to shake. "We're leaving at 2 in the afternoon tomorrow."

Brendan acknowledged this information with a tilting of his head. He didn't have the energy for any emotion.

Ste took the sign of comprehension as an improvement, and he rolled his lover off himself (he had actually started to find their positions painful a while ago) and slid his own body over the man's.

"Do you want me to take your mind off things?" He asked genuinely. He didn't...he didn't _want_ Brendan, not in those circumstances, and he didn't expect Brendan to want him in the usual way, either. But sometimes just company of that sort worked. It wasn't like either of them hadn't used it before.

Brendan shrugged away from his touch, silently, and rolled under the covers. And neither of them spoke, alone on their side of the bed, for the rest of the night. Neither of them slept.

When the day began to dawn, the sun peeking from behind the horizon in an array of colours that didn't match their sombre mood, Brendan got out of the bed. Ste heard him head to the shower, listened to the noises – and it was a far longer shower than usual – and then watched the man dress, without once moving himself.

"Where are you going?" He asked quietly, when Brendan reached for the door handle.

"Walk," the Irishman grunted, just as the door closed. Ste breathed a deep sigh, and rolled onto his front, his limbs askew across the vacated bed and missing his uncommunicative boyfriend already.

The day passed with boredom. He stopped in on Declan briefly, but the lad was doing some sort of course and was busy with work, and called in on Eileen, who despite all he got on quite well with, and even headed down to the park for a few hours, to brainstorm new recipe ideas; but he came up blank and, just after one, he returned to the apartment unfulfilled and thoroughly bored.

The shower was on, again, and he knocked on the bathroom door once before entering.

Brendan jumped, and turned his back on Ste.

Thoroughly alarmed, Ste surged forwards, worried, "What is it?"

Brendan just shrugged, "Nothing," and yet he hid his body.

"Show me!" The younger man demanded, ignoring the jet of water that hit him as he pulled open the shower door roughly. His shirt began to stick to him, but Brendan didn't even appear to notice as he wrapped a towel around his waist and shrugged into a tshirt.

Ste watched open mouthed as Brendan redressed, even up to his jacket, and turned to look at Ste shiftily.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Ste demanded angrily – and perhaps this was unjust but he didn't know if it wasn't and that was half the problem. "What are you hiding?"

Brendan rolled his eyes, "Nothing, Jesus, quit nagging me like an old woman." He turned away, shoving his things into a bag quickly and then packing Ste's as well. "We're going to be late," he said as a command, and then left, leaving Ste to trail in his wake.

In the car, the man was very different.

He beamed at Ste, smiling sweetly and caressing his boyfriend's palm with his thumb as they held hands, humming along to love songs and filling the frigid air with questioning chatter. Ste did not reciprocate.

He did not appreciate being kept in the dark.

What could Brendan have possibly vanished somewhere and done that he would have to hide? Ste _knew_ all of Brendan's history, it wasn't like Brendan would have reason to believe Ste wouldn't forgive him anything, under the right circumstances. Well, almost anything; murdering his children was off the list, of course, as was and form of child abuse, as was cheating, but Brendan wouldn't do any of that.

Would he?

Of course not, and there must be something else that Brendan would have to hide. Most likely he was just in a bad mood, and would share with Ste when they had a few days' cool off period. Right. Exactly.

Good.

But on the ferry, attentive as Brendan was with the romantic meal and the walk on the deck holding hands, he avoided Ste's questions and turned the attention back to their wedding. If anything, he fixated on it, on them, to such an extent that it seemed almost – and Ste hated to think it – like guilt.

What the hell had he done?

They reached the village late that night, pulling up smoothly outside the flat and going straight to bed. Brendan moulded himself around Ste, covering his body in little kisses and the slow, steady burn inside the younger man increased until it was less slow and steady and more a raging torrent that had them sighing and grappling and tugging and pushing and almost fighting with one another because they wanted each other so much.

And throughout all, Brendan was so tender.

He gave it how _Ste_ liked it, with no selfishness.

He adored Ste.

And Ste wouldn't deny it was great...but he still didn't know why and, when an exhausted Brendan slipped off to sleep, he leant over and tugged his phone out of his discarded jeans.

In his deleted messages he found one:

_To:Brendan_

_I had fun, let's do it again sometime xx_

_From: Macca_

* * *

**I know, I know, no one really likes this amount of Stendan angst, because we've had enough to last us a lifetime and yadda yadda yadda. But just think - remember how fantastic them getting together properly was in HO, and how that was because of all the drama beforehand? Yeah, well, it's going to be like that. Hopefully. Wish me luck ;)**

**Anyway, give me any pointers you can, and please, please, please review because they really do help speed up the writing process! Take Lig7tm3up's example ;)  
~Meli**


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